O Little Tramp.... my poor heart
festivals of cranky and the ego flying as a smoke In the multiple
there is no place for you...!
in the parties of distribution of mummified bodies.... and the parties of Wake-up bodies
Suppose you are being...
Witness to the drowning in the last sin?
You.. my soft smile heart
who homelessly roam the misery eternal yards
heavily pushed vehicle with the
your tears always from sticky burned blood
You tramp
Masked or without mask
This is not your cirque..... no Children laughing here nor girls putting their hands on the surprising mouths
Here the game biggest than you... and as supposed in you.. Dear Child polite
the questions were died before you arrange them in your little mind
Oh, my big heart
How many your torn down files contain from desolated papers which repeated every time
O Little Tramp.... my poor heart
does not have Incense
nor prayer beads
And your anger voice unmasked with the trembled anger
Be greedy with your acrobatics steps and do not forget traffic rules of the walking with hands
Abdel-Aziz Haider (originally in arabic)
Baghdad 2010
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem